


godless underneath your cover

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cook discovers Archie's fascination with his tattoos... so he lets his lover make his own mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	godless underneath your cover

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from David Usher's "Black Black Heart." I recommend listening to [this slow version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZB6LxnNP_yE) before or while reading, as it sets the mood I'm aiming for.
> 
> Written for the possessive!Cook prompt that seems to be an overwhelmingly popular request. For [fallingthishard](http://fallingthishard.tumblr.com), [abovetheruins](http://abovetheruins.tumblr.com), and [buildmydreams](http://buildmydreams.tumblr.com). Also, please blame Tia for the focus on Cook's tattoos. I will never look at them the same way again.

Cook is roused from the heavy blanket of sleep as he feels the ghost of fingers lingering on his arm. 

He smiles.  He knows that touch anywhere.

He sighs into his pillow and lets his lover trail questing fingers down his arm, and he shivers at the fleeting, tender caress.  His lover’s hand travels downward until it reaches his own; slender, supple fingers thread through his, and he grips them readily, firmly.

But then warm, moist lips follow the same path those fingers have taken, and this time, Cook’s breath catches in his throat at the sudden tug of his gut, sending his nerves _sizzling_.

Gently, he feels himself being turned over onto his back as his lover throws a leg over his torso, straddling him. He blinks away the last vestiges of sleep and welcomes the immensely satisfying sight of David Archuleta gazing down at him through hazel eyes heavily-lidded with arousal _._

Before he can even get the words out—his addled mind still a jumble of “ _Good morning_ ” and “ _God, you’re beautiful_ ” and _“Fuck, I will never get enough of this, enough of you”_ —the syllables are swallowed by Archie’s lush, bitten-soft, kiss-swollen lips. A needy little whimper escapes the younger man’s mouth—and that sound is all the spark needed to turn the crackling embers of desire simmering low in Cook’s belly to flare into full-blown _hunger._

With shaking hands, he runs his fingers through Archie’s hair.  “What do you want, baby?” He whispers huskily against Archie’s lips; his lover seems fully intent on not letting him speak as his lower lip keeps getting caught between Archie’s teeth.  “What do you need?” He asks again, a bit more desperately this time as he struggles to hold on to his tenuous control. “My mouth?  My cock? … My ass?”

He feels the other man’s bare cock twitch against his thigh, and Cook smirks. 

Archie pulls back, hair disheveled and eyes wild… and shakes his head.

Confused but more than willing to let his younger lover set the pace, he forces himself to lie back against their sheets as Archie runs his hands over his shoulders and down his arms once more. Cook watches the way Archie’s gaze turns focused, and wonders what the other man is thinking—what he is _seeing_.

And then Archie leans forward… and begins mouthing his way down one of Cook’s arms.

Archie’s teeth grazes against his skin, and then lets his tongue lap soothingly at the sting immediately after. The sensation is shockingly erotic, and he lets his eyes flutter close as he savours the electric jolts it sends straight through his thickening cock.  It’s only when Archie reaches his forearm that Cook realises that his lover is following a pattern.

A very, _very_ familiar pattern.

Cook forces his eyes open to make sure that he isn’t just imagining it, and he looks down to see that _yes,_ Archie’s sinfully delectable mouth is making love to his _tattoos._

Caught in a tangle of surprise, lust, and illogical _jealousy_ at his own ink, Cook rasps out, “Archie?  What are you doing?”

In lieu of answering, Archie slides upward slowly to settle against Cook’s stomach.  Cook bites his lip as Archie’s cock nestles against his own, but his lover doesn’t give him time to dwell on the exquisite feeling as Archie latches on his chest… and _sucks_.

Groaning, Cook clutches at Archie’s nape as Archie devotes all of his attention to Cook’s heart tattoo. Every so often, Archie’s tongue flicks over to lave at Cook’s nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud and sucking it in between his teeth. 

“ _Baaaby,_ ” Cook bites out roughly, his voice dangerously low as his grip on Archie’s hair tightens precariously. “What’s gotten into you?”

At last, Archie lets go of Cook’s skin with a slick, wet pop, and Cook’s cock jumps needfully at the sound. He holds on to Archie’s hips as the boy’s lashes flutter open to meet Cook’s lustful gaze, and Cook can’t help the bestial satisfaction that curls in his chest at the way Archie’s pupils are blown and dilated, knowing that at this moment, Archie is completely consumed by _Cook_.

“Your tattoos…” Archie finally utters, “What they stand for…”

Archie is breathing shallowly, and _fuck,_ he _loves_ the sound of Archie being this desperate, this _needy._ “I know they mean a lot to you, so much that you made them permanent, and I—”

Archie cuts himself off suddenly. Cook runs his hands soothingly up and down Archie’s naked back as he patiently waits, listening to his gut instinct telling him that whatever Archie is going to say next, it’s _important._

Finally, after taking a deep breath, seemingly gathering his courage, Archie closes his eyes and leans forward to whisper tremblingly against Cook’s mouth:

“I want to be permanent, too.”

For several heart-stopping seconds, Cook goes absolutely still.

The exact implication of those words sinks in… and the final threads of his control snaps.

With a growl, Cook grasps Archie’s head firmly to keep him in place as Cook plunders his mouth, fucking that moist cavern with his tongue as he slides it in and out of Archie’s lips. He swallows Archie’s drawn-out moan, revelling in the way the young man wantonly opens for him and _melts_ against him, and he twines his tongue around Archie’s and sucks it greedily into his own mouth. 

Their bed rustles and squeaks as Cook flips them over.  He cages Archie between both of his arms as he looms over him; both of them are breathing hard as they stare at one another. 

(His previous lovers have always told him in the aftermath of sex that during the heat of passion, Cook looks _terrifying_ : like a wolf ready to devour his prey.

He imagines that the way he looked then wasn’t even a _hundredth_ of how he looks now. 

Because for the first time, this wolf isn’t looking at his prey.

He’s looking at his _mate._ )

“You don’t seem to understand, David,” he says quietly, and Archie’s eyes widen at the use of their shared name—and at the darkly possessive tone that rumbles deeply from Cook’s throat.

Cook leans down and turns his head so his lips brush against the shell of Archie’s ear; he feels the young man’s full body _shiver_ all the way down to his toes.

“I don’t intend to let you go. Do you hear me?” Cook nips sharply at Archie’s earlobe, making his lover gasp.  “I am _never_ letting you go.”

Strong, agile fingers threading through his hair is the only warning Cook has before Archie _yanks,_ forcing Cook to meet his eyes.

Archie’s chest is heaving erratically, breathing heavily like he’s _drowning,_ but his gaze is steady as he hoarsely declares:

“ _Good_.”

And he crashes against Cook’s mouth with a bruising kiss.

 

 

Cook surveys himself in the full-body mirror in their bedroom.  He lets his gaze travel down his own naked body being reflected back at him.

He is darkly pleased at what he sees. 

There are red lines running down his neck where Archie has scratched him inadvertently when he was sucking Archie’s cock, unheeding Archie’s high-pitched keening as Cook continued to bob his head even after Archie came spurting down Cook’s throat, skirting the edge between hypersensitive pleasure and pain. 

There is a purple bruise blooming on one of his shoulders, surrounded by the indentations of teeth marks where Archie has bitten him to muffle his screams when Cook angled his thrusts so that the drag of his cock in and out of Archie’s ass hit Archie’s prostrate each time, blinding him with white-hot pleasure. 

There are nail marks on his chest where Archie desperately held on as Cook slicked their cocks and rocked them together, and there are similar scratches down his arms where Archie clutched him as he came _again_ , arching his back _beautifully_ against their sheets with his mouth open in a silent cry, gripping Cook as if he was Archie’s _lifeline._

There are smaller, purple bruises dotting his hips and his thighs where Archie held him tightly as he fucked Cook, and Cook’s toes curl at the memory of how Archie rode him agonisingly slowly but oh so _filthily_ , denying them both release in order to draw out the pleasure until neither of them could take it anymore, and when they came _together_ Cook could swear he momentarily _died_ in the climax as his mind blanked out and stars burst beneath his eyelids, and every single one of his nerves was set on _fire._

And there is a colourful constellation of purple bruises, red scratches, and crescent-shaped nail marks down his back where Archie simply held on when they continued to kiss even after they came down together from the last climax they shared; and the way Archie kissed him is an overwhelming combination of tenderness and yearning and hunger and _love_ , and he kept pulling Cook tighter and tighter against him as he delved deeper and deeper into Cook’s mouth, as if he wanted to crawl inside of Cook’s mouth and live inside Cook’s chest and never be without him ever again.

 _If only that was possible,_ Cook finds himself thinking unrepentantly, before he is distracted by the feeling of familiar, beloved arms wrapping around his stomach from behind.  He smiles.

“How do you like my new tattoos?”

He meets Archie’s gaze in the mirror, and Archie looks over Cook’s shoulder at their joint reflection and blinks. He sees the way Archie’s gaze flicker all over Cook’s marked body and catches the look of guilt that flashes in his features, and Cook interrupts the sincere but unnecessary apology he knows is going to come out of Archie’s mouth.  

“ _I_ like it,” he murmurs, forestalling Archie’s words.  Archie closes his mouth and looks at him in wonder, and despite the way both their mouths are still red and swollen, Cook can’t help but turn his head and kiss Archie softly, telling him without words that not only does he not regret this… he _wants_ this.

He wants the reminder that he is the only one who can make Archie utterly lose control and forget all sense of existence except for this, _them_ , together.

He wants the validation that he’s the only one whom Archie opens his body and heart and _soul_ to like this, unashamedly entrusting his entire being to _Cook_.

He wants the reassurance that this aching need and desire and _longing_ that is constantly simmering in his blood is _mutual_ , and that Archie craves and wants and _loves_ him in equal measure.

He wants the evidence that Archie is _his…_ and that Archie _wants_ to be.

Because he needs to know that Archie belongs to him in the same manner that Archie already—completely—owns _him._

Cook pulls back, watching the way Archie’s eyes flutter open, and he smiles at the way Archie automatically leans forward just a smidgen, chasing the ghost of their kiss.  Cook laughs softly, making Archie pout at him, before Cook relents and pulls him back in for a deeper, more thorough kiss. Archie sighs contentedly against him, and something warm unfurls inside of Cook’s chest, making him quiver in the boy’s arms, and briefly Cook wonders if it’s possible to die from too much happiness.

They finally separate when the need for air hatefully makes itself known.  Archie steps back as he surveys Cook’s body, and the slow once-over Archie uses to assess his handiwork is enough to set Cook’s blood boiling all over again.

“The marks…” Archie bites his lip. “They’re not permanent though.”

 _And I want them to be,_ is left unsaid.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Cook says roughly, his voice already growing deeper, huskier.  “You get to make new ones every time.”  He tilts Archie’s chin towards him.  “I _look forward_ to it.”

Archie’s breath catches. “You…” he swallows. “You have to help me be… _creative,_ then _._ ”

Cook has to close his eyes briefly at the dizzying rush of _lust_ that overtakes him as his thoughts are bombarded with scenes of what _exactly_ that creativity can entail. When he opens his eyes again, Archie is _smirking_ at him.

Schooling his face into a nonchalant expression, even as his limbs are already trembling with _want_ , Cook clears his throat.  “Your… _service_ , though, seems incomplete.  You’ve forgotten the aftercare.”

Archie furrows his brows in confusion, and it’s now Cook’s turn to smirk.  “You see… tattoo artists provide their customers with some sort of healing balm, so that the newly inked skin will heal faster.”

“But… I don’t have that.” Archie looks so genuinely crestfallen that Cook is almost tempted to give up the game.

“Oh, you do,” Cook crowds into Archie’s space, feeling the warm gusts of air against his bare skin as Archie’s breathing quickens.  “Saliva, after all, is a natural antiseptic.”

His gaze turns absolutely _feral._

“Your service… requires you to kiss it all better.”

Archie stares at him for a long moment.  Cook holds his breath along with Archie, feeling the air surrounding them thickening with anticipation.

And then… Archie’s beatific features break into a smile—slow, seductive, and utterly _salacious._

Without breaking eye contact, Archie slowly lowers himself onto the floor until he is kneeling by Cook’s feet. He grasps at Cook’s ankles and slowly runs his hands upward over Cook’s calves until they reach his thighs.

 _“_ Where…” Archie breathes, “…do you want me to start?”

 

 

 


End file.
